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Diary of a Spring road trip around Alaska
There was a loud knock. It was barely light, and after exchanging glances with my wife I put down my half-chewed bagel, smothered in peanut butter, and went over to the campervan door.
Standing there in the gloom was a young man, thin with a pasty white face under a red checkered baseball cap, hands thrust deep into his blue denims. In a sullen southern drawl he said: “Just gonna do some shootin’ here, hope you don’t mind, didn’t want you folks to worry.” Words reassuring on the page, but which were actually delivered with a tone hinting more at begrudging duty towards us tourists, who might panic and call the police at something so innocent and commonplace as bullets at dawn. I thanked him, and closed the door gently. Time to move on...